


A Mug and Cufflinks

by janto321 (FaceofMer)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Presents, Fluff and Smut, Frottage, Light BDSM, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-05
Updated: 2013-12-05
Packaged: 2018-01-03 12:54:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1070689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaceofMer/pseuds/janto321
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg goes to Mycroft's for a Christmas evening.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Mug and Cufflinks

Greg took a breath as he adjusted the present under his arm. The townhouse was in only the best part of town, of course. Understated and fairly non-descript, with only a wreath on the door as some sort of concession to Christmas cheer. He smiled a little and raised his hand to knock, only to have the door open before his hand fell.

“Inspector, please come in.” The woman was older, bowing slightly to him as she let him inside and took his coat. Of course Mycroft would have a few servants around. “Master Holmes is expecting you in the study, sir.”

“Thank you.” Greg shifted, a little uncomfortable as he followed her down an eggshell painted hallway and into the room. Tall shelves were stuffed with books. A tastefully decorated Christmas tree stood in one corner and a pair of leather chairs faced the fire.  It looked just like a Christmas card, or something out of a novel and it smelled wonderfully like pine and old books and leather.

Mycroft sat delicately in the right hand chair, sipping a glass of no doubt very fine wine. The umbrella leaned against the side, just in reach. Smiling and ignoring the feeling of vague inadequacy in the back of his mind, Greg moved into the room. A grey cat jumped down from where it had been curled up on the arm of Mycroft’s chair, gave Greg a look and made its way over to a bookshelf, jumping up and curling on the ledge.

“I didn’t know you had a cat,” said Greg, taking the other seat.

Mycroft poured him a glass of wine. “Does anyone truly own a cat?” he asked philosophically.

“Point. Thank you.” Greg took his glass and sipped it. Delicious, of course. “Merry Christmas.”

“We’ve got another hour or so yet. Did you get that last case wrapped up?”

“Finally. Last I saw your brother and John were in the process of getting very drunk off mulled wine. Who knows what will happen when they get home.”

Mycroft watched him. “They’ll have a good Christmas, I am certain. John will take care of him.”

Greg knew there wasn’t any sort of Holmes family Christmas gathering. That was fine by him. The ex-wife had made it abundantly clear he wasn’t welcome anywhere in the neighborhood tomorrow. He’d stay right here all night. And was looking forward to that almost as much as the present he was holding in his lap. Mycroft put his glass down and Greg took his hand, drawing it up to his lips and kissing it tenderly. The other man gave the smallest shudder as he watched him. No one else knew Mycroft like this, knew how to take him so slowly apart.

“Would you like your present now?”

Mycroft smiled. His real smile, so rare and wonderful it made Greg’s heart skip. “You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“But it’s hardly Christmas without presents.” Greg presented the small box to him. Mycroft would know he wrapped it himself, and not very well, but unlike his brother he knew when to keep his mouth shut.

Fingering the bow a moment, Mycroft unwrapped it as if wanting to save the paper. Greg nervously watched him open the box and pull out the mug, blinking at it. It was an ordinary white coffee mug, only it had “Property of a Minor Official” written on it in Greg’s best (not very good) handwriting.

Mycroft blinked, turning it in his hands. “It’s lovely,” he pronounced.

Greg grinned, relieved. “What do you get the man that has everything?”

Setting it down carefully, Mycroft stood and crossed over, leaning down to kiss Greg. “Thank you. No one...not since...thank you.”

It wasn’t often that Greg found a Holmes at a loss for word. He tugged him into his lap, wrapping one arm around his waist. “You’re welcome.”

“I’m not very good with gifts,” confessed Mycroft, pulling a box from his pocket.

Greg resisted making a joke about how there couldn’t possibly be anything a Holmes was bad at. He took the box and opened it. Inside was a pair of simple silver cufflinks with a slight wave pattern. “Oh these are beautiful.”

Mycroft leaned in and nuzzled his neck. “I am glad you like them.”

“Of course I do.” He set the box on the table next to the mug and wrapped his arms around him, just holding him close and not minding the weight on his legs. Slowly he felt Mycroft start to relax in his arms. Greg smiled and kissed his forehead. “Falling asleep on me?”

“No, of course not,” mumbled Mycroft, kissing his neck.

Greg chuckled and shifted him a bit so he could reach his waistcoat. He carefully slipped the buttons through fabric until he could tug it back. Mycroft moaned softly as his fingers loosened the tie at his throat. The silk made a whisper of sound as Greg drew it free of his collar and undid the top button. Turning his lover slightly, Greg leaned in to kiss his clavicle, sucking slightly and making Mycroft grab at his arms and groan.

Leaning back again and regarding him. Greg met Mycroft’s eyes, seeing how tired he looked. No doubt he’d been working long hours as well. The fates of nations didn’t take holidays any more than the criminals of London. Still holding the tie in his hands, Greg reached up and put it across Mycroft’s eyes. There was a moment of stiffness, then submission. Trust. He tied the makeshift blindfold, kissed his neck again, then started on the rest of the buttons on his shirt.

Mycroft’s skin was pale, with a dusting of ginger hair and a sprinkle of freckles. Greg leaned in and kissed his chest as he finished with the shirt, pushing it to the side. Mycroft gasped as the air touched him, Greg’s finger’s feather-soft as they caressed his chest and down his sides.

Helping Mycroft up, Greg stood him in front of the fire. He removed the layers of jacket, waistcoat and shirt, carefully draping them across the chair. Watching the firelight flicker across his skin, Greg drew his belt free of his loops.

Automatically, Mycroft put his hands behind his back. Greg smiled and moved to bind his wrists with the belt. He kissed the man’s shoulder, then reached for his trousers. In a moment Mycroft was stepping out of the last of his clothes, going to his knees on a rug that probably cost more than Greg’s yearly salary.

Greg bit his lip and walked around him a moment while his lover waited patiently. He seemed almost ethereal in the light, a pale ghost hardly of this world. Greg reached out to his shoulder as he stopped behind him. He lay one finger down, drawing it slowly across his back, shoulder to shoulder. Mycroft’s mouth parted and his cock twitched.

Picking up his finger, Greg next drew it slowly up one arm. Then very slowly down his spine, nearly to his hands. Mycroft leaned forward, silently encouraging him to go lower. Smiling, Greg kissed the shell of his ear and moved to the front. He knelt in front of him and ran both strong hands up Mycroft’s chest.

“Gregory,” whispered Mycroft. The words were a plea. Greg glanced down at the man’s leaking cock. His own strained against his trousers, reminding him he was still fully dressed. He cupped Mycroft’s hips, drawing him suddenly up against him, cocks sliding together with the barrier of fabric in between.

Leaning forward, Greg dragged his teeth along Mycroft’s shoulder, letting the man rut slowly against him. He bit down, making Mycroft cry out, sucking on his shoulder hard enough to mark before pulling off, wiping his mouth and moving away from him.

Mycroft panted, thighs trembling, clearly wanting to move towards him, but obeying and staying where he’d been placed. Greg stood up and moved away, leaving him there. The cat regarded him with a swishing tail, then went back to sleep.

As silently as he could, Greg stripped out of his clothes, the rustle of fabric loud in the quiet room. He fished the lube out of his pocket and made his way back over. Mycroft’s head turned towards the sound of his footsteps, tongue darting out to wet his lips.

Grabbing a small pillow from the chair and placing it on the rug, Greg took Mycroft’s shoulder and pushed him down until his cheek was on the pillow and his pretty arse was in the air. He half wished he could take a picture, just like this. But he’d never betray Mycroft’s trust like that. Instead he moved behind him and knelt, setting down the lube. He ran his hands along that pale bottom, spreading the cheeks with his hands before leaning in to kiss his entrance.

Mycroft moaned again, shifting back against him. Greg lapped at him for a few long moments before pushing his tongue past the tight muscle. There was a strangled cry against the pillow. Greg withdrew his tongue and did it again, fucking him slowly, feeling the way Mycroft shook under his hands and tongue, loosening for him. His own cock lay hot and hard between his legs and he could hardly wait until he was filling him.

Finally he pulled his mouth away, wiping it with the back of his hand before popping open the lube. It wouldn’t take much more after that tongue fucking, but he wanted his lover completely ready.

His fingers slipped easily inside. Greg leaned forward and nipped at one cheek, spreading the lube before adding a bit more. “I am going to fuck you,” he said softly, a promise and a threat. “I’m going to fuck you so hard we’re going to ruin this rug and you’ll be feeling it until New Year’s.”

“Please,” Mycroft whimpered, spreading his legs a little wider.

Dumping more lube on his own cock, Greg knelt up behind him, slowly pressing just the head inside. Keening, Mycroft tried to push back, but Greg kept him firmly in place, making his way inside at an agonizing pace.

“Please, Gregory,” Mycroft panted. “Please, _please_ fuck me. Greg, fuck me,”

Holding tight to his hips, Greg drove forward, making Mycroft shout and his words turn incoherent. Pushing his lover down, Greg grabbed the pillow and tucked it under his hips, planting his hands on either side of his chest as he drove into him again and again.

“God, Mycroft,” he moaned, lifting one hand to free his wrists from the belt. Mycroft pillowed his head on his arms as Greg picked up the pace again, relishing the feel of his lover writhing underneath him, spreading his legs wider for him, rocking up to meet him. With a muffled groan Mycroft came, whole body shaking with the force of it.

Greg gasped as he clenched around him. He leaned down and kissed Mycroft’s back, thrusting a few more times before tipping over the edge and filling him with a groan. He licked a line of sweat from his spine before carefully pulling out and rolling onto his back.

Mycroft smiled and tossed the pillow aside, wrapping one long leg across Greg’s waist and an arm across his chest. Greg kissed the top of his head and wrapped an arm around his back while Mycroft nuzzled his neck. “I’m not sure about New Years, Gregory.”

“Cheeky bastard,” said Greg affectionately, tugging the blindfold free. “I’ll just have to shag you stupid again in the morning.”

Above them the clock chimed twelve. “I do believe it’s morning now,” yawned Mycroft.

Greg chuckled. “And neither of us is sixteen anymore. Bad enough we’re falling asleep on the rug.”

“We’ll wake up in a couple hours and retire to my chambers.”

Greg rolled his eyes and held him a little closer. Merry Christmas indeed.

  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to everyone who hung out when I was writing yesterday, and special thanks to lucianajellyfish for the final look over.
> 
> You can find me at [merindab.tumblr.com.](http://merindab.tumblr.com/)


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